The right decision
by xShippyAngelx
Summary: This is a tag for 11x05 - because I've already accepted Ziva/Cote's absence on the show, but my heart still breaks a little every Tuesday.


_"It's so interesting. No one will say her name — have you noticed? It's like she's dead. And everytime I look at her desk, everytime I close my eyes, I feel like I made a mistake. I feel like I made… the wrong decision. Only it wasn't me who decided."_

* * *

Tony is half-sitting on the bed; supporting his back on the stiff headboard. (He feels like carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.) Resting his neck on the wooden surface, he's able to see through his window and tries to discern the few visible stars in the urban sky filled with pollution and constructions.

(He wonders if the sky is equally clear in Israel right now, but the thought doesn't last more than a couple of seconds.)

His mouth tastes of wheat beer and regret and his head hurts like hell, forcing him to realize that he's not a young guy anymore… Looking up at the ceiling, he sees everything spinning. He's beyond drunk; but even if there's a small voice in his head reprehending him for returning somehow to his past self-absorbed, unwise drinking habits, he couldn't care less. He feels down, pathetic and utterly lonely. He hates himself while repeatedly replaying the earlier conversation he had with Ducky and Gibbs.

Then again, he doesn't care…

He should have know better than to use alcohol as a coping method. But the truth is he'd rather feel numb than experience the pain of being… abandoned. Flashes run through his mind and Tony's blood rushes with an alarming speed. He sees the image of his mom; so calm and sweet and always available. And then he sees Ziva; so puzzling and warm, simply out of reach. (He sees the women in his life who changed him, made him become the man he was supposed to be and then left him for good.)

It's all fucking unfair.

Lifting the dark brown bottle to his lips, he drinks the sour liquid. When no drop is left, he stretches out his arm until there's no mattress bellow, letting the now empty object fall to the ground. The sound of glass breaking doesn't scare him, but he cringes anyway.

Submerged in self-pity, Tony misses the quiet sound of the front door opening and closing.

Once he's finally back to some level of consciousness, he can make the faint noise of light footsteps that have no intention of going unheard. The NCIS agent even tries to reach out to grab his gun on his bedside table to protect himself, but he fails — his cognitive skills, physical coordination and reflexes are inept due to the amount of alcohol he's consumed tonight.

The world keeps on spinning and his visual acuity is equally frail, but… Even in the darkness of his room, he knows he would be able to recognize that profile from across the Moon.

Tony shivers for a second, feeling his stomach drop and his heart pound on his ears to a deafening point. Yet, the image remains motionless and he asks himself if that's only a mirage; the mere result of wishful dreaming and excessive alcohol consumption.

His mind goes blank when the familiar presence walks in, uninvited, and starts taking off her coat and her shoes. There's a lump in his throat stopping him from voicing her name. He feels like crying — from happiness and relieve, from missing her so much.

He tries to sit up, never taking his eyes off her.

Coming closer still —until he's able to see every trace of her face—, fearless and stoic, Ziva softly shakes her head, stopping his movements without breaking the delicious eye contact. There's a little smile tempting to curve the corner of her lips (oh well, maybe she's missed him too), but her eyes are deep dark, guilty and sad.

Feeling a bit out of place, she sits on the other side of the bed anyway. The mattress is small enough for one —incredibly petty for two—, but once she opens up her arms in a silent invitation and makes him rest his face on her collarbone, they fit.

Ziva holds him on her lap, while Tony remains half-sitting on the bed — now, graciously so. She rocks him softly from side to side; as if a mom with her inconsolable child; as if a woman blindly in love, giving her all so willingly.

Tony hides his face on the space between her jaw and shoulder and sighs deeply, as if breathing for the very first time in weeks. Seeking comfort, he grips her hips and embraces her strongly as if his life depends on it.

He tries to part his lips, to blurt out her name, but she silences him with a kiss on his forehead. "Shh", she whispers, swinging their bodies in sync. "You made the right decision."

Tony feels like crying; feels like a guilty man on the way to find forgiveness for all his sins.

He wonders if she's just a dream; a mere figment of his imagination. Wonders if she'll disappear as soon as he regains his sobriety — because that's like a second nature to her.

Though he finds no strength, Tony feels every cell in his body regenerate and the most evident part of his male anatomy harden. He wonders if this is as real as it feels; thinks if they'll make love in the morning like they did in Israel.

Once Tony smells her skin, feels the tip of her curls brushing against his knuckles and lightly kisses her neck… that's when he knows for sure: she's there and he's made the right choice.

And though it may hurt like hell sometimes —every time they are on different sides of the planet—, he will never regret any decision he made for her.

He will never regret having her —even not having her occasionally— in his life.


End file.
